


his footsteps fall with the thunder of the gods

by desdemona (LydiaOfNarnia)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/desdemona
Summary: There are two things that keep him rooted down to earth. One, the bitter taste of defeat, which he has known enough times now to realize that he is not invincible; where the strong stand, there is always someone better.The second is his teammates, the players on the court alongside him. He can not win alone, and he cannot fly without wings.His teammates are his equals, because they raise him up. Tendou – Tendou, impossibly clever Tendou, who turned his intuition into his weapon  – has never been anything less than his equal.Where had he given off the impression that he thought anything less?





	

“You know, Wakatoshi,” Tendou says, “you make me feel like I’m not good enough sometimes.”

Wakatoshi stops, and turns. For someone who is always so loud, Tendou’s voice is nearly drowned out by the winter wind that whips through skeleton branches far above their heads. He’s paused several paces down the sidewalk, hanging back as if unwilling to take another step. He is not directly under that lamppost, but close enough that its glow casts sunset shades in his crimson hair.

“I never said that,” Wakatoshi replies, and the words are wrong. He is being honest, but the words do not hold the meaning he wants them to. He does not know how to tell Tendou what he knows to be true – that he never saw the other boy as anything lesser than an equal.

It’s tempting at times, of course. Magazines and media laud him as a God of the volleyball court, one of the rising stars to keep an eye on. Audacious nicknames like “Miracle Boy Wakatoshi” do little to humanize him in the eyes of his peers, and himself. Sometimes it is all too tempting to envision himself as a giant, towering high above everyone else on the court.

There are two things that keep him rooted down to earth. One, the bitter taste of defeat, which he has known enough times now to realize that he is not invincible; where the strong stand, there is always someone better. Wakatoshi does not want to be the best; he wants to stand among those titans, though it is not his desire to be their king.

The second is his teammates, the players on the court alongside him. Hands that send a ball soaring perfectly into his outstretched palm. Bodies that dive to the ground just in time to save a point. Feet that lift from the court, blocking an enemy’s spikes like gunfire bouncing off an impenetrable fortress. He can not win alone, and he cannot fly without wings.

His teammates are his equals, because they raise him up. Tendou – _Tendou_ , impossibly clever Tendou, who turned his intuition into his weapon, his wit to knives, and his looks into a shield – has never been anything less than his equal.

Where had he given off the impression that he thought anything less?

Something in Tendou’s face cracks, just for a second, like pottery splitting inside of the kiln. His upper lip twitches, and it almost looks like he wants to laugh, were it not for the desperation in his eyes.

“You’re right, Wakatoshi,” he replies. “You never did.”

* * *

Wakatoshi does not understand where he’s gone wrong until later, when it’s Tendou on the other side of an empty volleyball court. It’s past midnight; they are not supposed to be here. By all rights they should have gone to bed hours ago. Yet sleep could find neither of them, in that predictable way it has when something is weighing on your mind. When Tendou had texted asking Wakatoshi to meet him in the gym, he hadn’t hesitated.

Shiratorizawa’s dorms are not locked at night; it is no trouble sneaking out. This is not the first time he’s done this. Tendou is infected with incurable wanderlust which some nights translates to insomnia, and without fail Wakatoshi finds himself getting dragged along. He kinda a lot less than he probably ought to. There are a lot of things about Tendou that he does not just tolerate, but has come to expect – even crave. (His smile, his laughter, the light in his eyes when he makes a successful serve…)

When Wakatoshi finds Tendou, the gym is dark, but the other boy stands in front of the volleyball net. He is a solitary figure, yet as he faces the other side of the court it is clear that he can see an entire game before him.

“Tendou,” Wakatoshi says, and Tendou does not jump. Instead he turns to him, ready, welcoming.

“Let me block for you,” he says, and Wakatoshi obliges him.

It is only fifteen spikes later, when Tendou’s hands are a stinging red, and he can not flex his fingers without wincing, that Wakatoshi brings this to an end. He refuses to be an accessory to his teammate hurting himself, even under the veiled guise of progress he cannot understand.

Hunched on the other side of the net, breathing heavily, Tendou does not look up when Wakatoshi reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder.

“You just don’t get it,” he hisses. Wakatoshi does not, but there is no need to say this. It is apparent, and Tendou knows it as well as he does.

He’s starting to think there are a lot of things he doesn’t get.

* * *

“There’s _no one_ who can stand in the shadow of Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Oikawa says, hands on his hips, the next time they meet face to face. The words are venomous, in the way Oikawa’s always seem to be when speaking to him. Wakatoshi is not fazed. Instead, the comment stirs something in him – rekindling a memory he’d pushed away in lieu of grappling to understand.

“My shadow is not as tall as you think,” he replies. He is a man, no more and no less. This is what Oikawa, in all his reaching for the outer edges of the universe, has never been able to understand.

Oikawa’s lips curl like he’s tasted something bitter, and he turns away. Wakatoshi stares down at his hands, and wonders how far his shadow really falls.

* * *

_I do see you as an equal,_ he says to Tendou the next time he sees him. _I always have. I could not win without my team by my side._

_You are part of that team, Tendou Satori._

_I need you by my side._

He has never been good with words, so he does not use them to say what he wants to. He communicates by touch instead; his hands on Tendou’s face, on his cheeks and the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the peppering of freckles across his nose. Tendou holds still, eyes wide, as he reads Wakatoshi’s thoughts like an open book. He’s always been so good at understanding things unsaid, and Wakatoshi doesn’t know how to make it any more clear.

A God cannot fly without a mountain to return home to. An eagle cannot soar without wings.

“You are my wings, Satori,” he says. Tendou’s lips pull up in an uncontrolled, unashamed grin.

“You’re so _weird_ ,” he mutters, and then kisses Wakatoshi for the first time.


End file.
